Butterflies
by Liraeyn
Summary: They all, each and every one of them, would make the same desperate wish at one point or another during the whole tragic saga.  Every last one of them.  Even the one who would have given all to prevent it.  But what if it were granted?
1. Prologue

I own, as my Latin teacher would say, a goose egg.

So anyway, I thought I would write this story because people have tried to do this, but I don't think any of them have really considered the whole ramifications of it. So this is my take on it.

By the way, I know it's been a while since I wrote anything, but senior year is incredibly busy and I'm trying not to lose my mind. It may be a battle already lost.

By the way, this is my first M-rated story, for no other reason than that I have one of the world's darkest minds. I mean it.

V^V^V^V^V^V^V

Arms around her knees. Knees poking her eyes.

Eyes wet with tears.

Tears soaking into her arms as she wiped them away, rocking back and forth in a largely futile attempt to calm herself down. Somehow, the repetitive motion at least helped to absorb the shaking caused by the uncontrollable sobs.

It didn't calm her mind. It seemed a common American mentality, actually, to think that mitigating a symptom solved the underlying problem.

Problem.

Pitiful word, that.

The day had begun well enough. No ongoing cases to rile Gibbs up and remind her of when they had first met.

But, of course, the memories came anyway. They always did.

She wished there had been a case. It would have given her something to do besides sit there and get lost in the labyrinth of her darkest thoughts.

As it was, she had made the fatal mistake of taking a nap.

It had seemed innocuous enough.

She had been back in her apartment when she woke up, disoriented. Despite her confusion, all seemed normal.

Key word: seemed.

Zombie-esque from sleep, she wandered over to the bathroom sink and splashed her face, returning to wakefulness before checking her reflection in the mirror over the sink. She screamed and spun around, drizzling hair flaring out and spraying droplets all over the room.

The boy stood in the doorway, head tilted to one side, half-smile on his lips.

Bullet hole between his eyes.

No. _Please_ no.

Not again.

Her brother held his hands out to her pleadingly. "Hey, little sister."

She tried to back away, but couldn't move, caught in his enthralling gaze. Those dark eyes… Loving, sad, peering into her soul…

Betrayed.

"I love you."

How could three simple words cause so much pain?

"I love you." He was crying. "I love you." So was she.

Blood was pouring down his face, dripping down onto his shirt.

"Why did you kill me?"

His fingers closed around her throat.

They were back on the roof again.

She'd come up there to get away from everything. Her sister's death, the surviving people…

…her own life.

But _some_one had other ideas.

It wasn't the first time they'd fought. It certainly wasn't the last.

But it _was_ the most desperate.

They were paradoxes, the two of them. Kill one who should live, and the one life you save is the one you really shouldn't have…

And kill the one you love.

She'd fought so hard his restraining hands had dug into her arms until they bled, ruby tears streaming down past her wrists.

She'd always had blood on her hands.

This time, it was different. She fought her way free, and finally cast herself into oblivion.

With a full-body jerk, she'd woken and mercifully fallen off her chair, which gave her time to resume her standard masquerade, rush to the elevator, lock herself in.

Unrolling herself, she pressed her body flat against the floor, slowly calming her breathing. Even so, every time her lungs filled, they shuddered uncontrollably.

_Why couldn't you just let me die, brother? Why? _

_Why did I have to kill you? _

V^V^V^V^V^V^V


	2. Half an Inch

This is not mine. I am so sick and tired of disclaimers…

V^V^V^V^V^V^V

_Swishthud_.

The doors to Autopsy were shut tight, as they should be during an infectious autopsy. Kate couldn't figure out why all the lights were off. It made very little sense. Ducky and Gerald were hardly of the nocturnal persuasion. _Unless they're trying to make it more hospitable to Abby… _

Kate walked out of the elevator cautiously, evidence box in her arms. News of the Goth scientist's latest quirk had caught her off-guard, but she hadn't really been surprised. Abby always seemed to have some tic or another…

Pushing her friend out of her mind, she knocked on the Autopsy door and caught Ducky's attention.

V^V^V^V^V^V^V

Sleeping peacefully.

And then, not so much.

Some sixth sense was trying to tell her-

something

-can't tell what-

_Where is he? _

Good place to start, that. He was always getting into trouble.

Phone.

Papa?

A moment of silence

Papa where is he?

-sigh-

Go back to sleep.

You tell me what you did with him.

He's on a mission. He's fine. Go back to bed. There's nothing to worry about.

Hang on a-

_Click. _

You didn't have to ask who.

V^V^V^V^V^V^V

Kate's profiling instincts were strong as ever.

The man with the dark hair and the darker soul hovered near the Autopsy door. She couldn't see that much of him, but she could tell that he had that look. The DiNozzo look. The you-know-you-want-me look. The one Kate would perpetually tease her partner about.

Yes, there was certainly that look to him. But Kate couldn't help but think that his... desire wouldn't stop him from killing her.

So she would have to kill him first.

The scalpel lay cold and gleaming on the table. Ducky had probably been about to use it on the dead body. He hadn't yet; it was too clean.

It wouldn't be for long.

Kate hated to kill. Catholic upbringing does that to a person.

However, her Secret Service training had, if not beaten it out of her, certainly shoved that part of her mind back... somewhere.

Wherever it was, it still existed. But she managed to hold it off for long enough to pick up the tiny blade,

-half an inch long, at most?

half an inch of no return-

and slit the invader's throat with it.

V^V^V^V^V^V^V

Halfway around the world, a young woman woke up in the middle of the night, choking and screaming.

V^V^V^V^V^V^V

Author's note: I am so sorry about not updating sooner- I really meant to get this written ages ago. Thank you, Write or Die.


	3. Headaches

Not mine.

V^V^V^V^V^V^V

"We have a problem."

Kate had spent the last three days trying unsuccessfully to banish from her mind the events of that day. She kept telling herself that she had done the right thing, that he was a terrorist, that he'd shot Gerald, that he could have killed everyone who got in the way of him getting out. Her subconscious had filed the dead man in her folder of people-nobody-would-miss-and-the-world-would-be-better-without. She'd been cleared in his death by the director and Internal Affairs. In defense of self and others, or something like that. Justified.

Tell that to her soul.

She'd killed before, in the Secret Service, and here at NCIS- that evil kidnapper in Columbia came to mind. For some unidentifiable reason, though, she couldn't get his face out of her head. It was burned into her subconscious just as it had looked when he fell to the Autopsy floor, thrashing back and forth, then less so.

Kate could never be sure, but he might have been crying.

Her mother had often told her something along the lines of "You have a dear and tender heart", or something equally sappy. Words which usually appeared immediately after one or another of her family members broke her heart, whether it was by killing the mouse they'd found in their basement -why couldn't they just shoo it outside?- or flushing her (live) goldfish down the toilet as punishment for back-talking.

She couldn't shake the feeling that she'd done something unforgivably wrong. Then there was that Damocles premonition, the sense of impending doom. That nagging feeling in her subconscious that she'd lost something. That she'd contaminated her soul.

Every time she thought about Autopsy, or a blade, or someone dying, or even NCIS, a dark cloud fell over her mind. She kept envisioning herself locking that moment in Autopsy into a safe and forgetting the combination. So she'd never bring it up again.

Time to open the bunker and see what evil she had wrought.

"He wasn't a terrorist." Kate felt like she'd been punched in the stomach. "What?" "He was an undercover Mossad agent."

V^V^V^V^V^V^V

Director Morrow was arguing. With a screen. Or rather, the person on the other side of the screen. Or rather, one of the billions of people on the other side of the planet, oddly enough the only one yelling through a computer screen back at the aforementioned Director Morrow.

"Do you have any idea what your agent's little stunt cost us? It took decades to-"

"We did ask you if you knew him, Eli. That was the time to say something, not now, when it's way too late. I know neither of us wanted your agent dead and mine with blood on her hands."

V^V^V^V^V^V^V

You could have told them. You could have saved him. This is all your fault.

Don't blame me for this. Blame her. She's the one who actually did it.

I just might. Be careful what you wish for.

V^V^V^V^V^V^V

"Mossad's pissed at us. They've insisted on sending one of their agents to work with us as a liaison officer."

"You mean to keep an eye on us."

"Your words. Not mine, not theirs. I expect you to treat their agent like a member of your team. We don't need this getting any messier."

"What'd they tell us about this agent?"

"Name's Liat Tuvia. 23, high-achieving, apparently. Multiple citations for gallantry, bravery, the whole nine yards. Sounds like she'll be a real asset."

"Sounds like she'll be a real headache, Director."

"Funny how often that happens. Look at DiNozzo. Hell, look at you."

Little did they know that the arrival of this particular "headache" would change the team forever.


End file.
